On the Rooftop
by Anastasya Debbie
Summary: "We have fallen down a long way, Arthur and me." For Snowflakes-Over-the-Water.


**Disclaimer: **Would Hetalia be mine? That might happen. But not now. Now, I am stuck at writing fanfictions instead of slapping Himaruya-sensei so that he would draw me the pictures that I would like. But even then it would not be mine, would it? *sigh*

**A/N:** Okay. I hereby declare that I have officially given up. I was being really stubborn and refused to post the fics written by me at summer holiday, at least until I have completed them all. I wanted to post them all at once. But we've gone through nearly 3 weeks, and the next one would be where I would go on a school camp. No electronics, no novels, no things that doesn't relate with the camp, not even freaking hairdryers and make up of any kind. Only the bible and a pastor of a religion that is not even mine. Oh joy. At least I would definitely sneak my cell phone in, hiding it underneath my undies. I need your reviews to cheer me up~ /shotforbeingpushy. They wouldn't rummage through a girl's undies, right? Rambles and whines aside, this fic is for **Snowflakes-Over-the-Water** who has reviewed a few of my fics and was the first one to review 'Silent Voice'. Thank you so much dear! I hope you would enjoy this one ^^

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I was visible once, a long time ago; and it was what you would say a nice thing. People would return my greetings and smiles, exchange apologies with me when we bumped into each other, help me when I asked for one, offer free burgers when I visit at the end of their shift. Hmm, free burgers.

But it was a long time ago. The cruel thing called time gears onward, and it left me here thrown away from the rest of them. No one jumped out of the train to help me back up.

It goes on. Things changed, I changed. And so they forget about me; even when I can't.

Here I am now, I guess; sitting with the only people who doesn't mind me, up on the rooftop of a high building which I don't even know the name of. We would just gaze down each night unto the glimmers of city light down there, of live and movement; of the train which we have left and has left us.

We have fallen down a long way, Arthur and me.

We've fallen down so low that we have ceased to exist; so hard that we're as good as dead, or maybe even worse since the dead won't 'burden the society'. But gazing down on the people under us, on the lamps and the vehicles driving away, I can't help but wonder.

Maybe we didn't fall down. We just flew too high for them to catch up.

"What's in the past is in the past", Arthur would mutter down whenever I tell him what I'm thinking about. His emerald eyes would gaze down unto the twinkling lights of the big, big city and the movement below. The pale skin wrapping his slim figure glows with an ethereal light emitting from the colourful lights under us. And then as he has said, I would forget all about it; I would just walk away on the road I have paved myself with my own hands.

I just hope that I haven't gotten too lost.

The fist of my Captain Hero action figure poked me on my side, and I twisted around to get a better position where my left hip would be spared. The paint has started to fade away from the years it has spent with me, especially the red one. So I asked Arthur to get me some paints and the needed equipments for me. I have spent enough years staring at it in awe and tracing my fingers around every spot to know all about the thing. I'm sure I can safe my Captain Hero. Arthur just grunted in response, but I know he will bring them for me.

The thing has been around for a long time indeed. I still remember when I first saw it behind the glass walls of the store's display with awe-filled eyes, nothing but a naive 6 year old by then. Using my puppy eyes attack on my parents, I immediately brought it home with me; tucked safe inside the star-striped cartoon box.

I held it when I dreamed of being a super hero; held it when I dreamed of being an astronout; held it when I dreamed of being a detective; held it when I dreamed of being a policeman; and now I hold it as I dream of being a kid again.

Oh, I'm thinking about the past. That ain't good for me. Arthur said so.

Okay, think about the present. The present. On my right, Arthur is sitting down like he always do, inhaling the smoke from a stolen cigarette. I've never liked smoking, but he does. The night wind blows rather strongly up here, ruffling the messy ash-blonde locks that is Arthur's hair. I've always tried to comb his messy hairs so that it gets a little better, but it would always spring back to life and to its messy self again. Arthur quickly loses his temper, so I would have to give up shortly after and sits back to my place beside him and gazes down to the light show below us; as if nothing has ever happened.

As if nothing has ever happened. Thinking again, it might not be so bad to be invisible. People would ignore us and let us pass as if nothing has ever happened―as if we don't exist. But you see, we're not really invisible. Sometimes people would be able to see us, even though I don't think it's something good. They see us when our path crosses theirs. When we are forced to steal for our food, when we're involved in illegal activities to scrape some good money, when we are only trying to survive and walk down the road.

Looking at their cold, hateful eyes, I wonder: did they forget that they were the ones who let us fall out of their train in the first place?

Arthur scoffs. "They only see us when it's convenient for them."

And it is true, I think. But I can't really blame them. I did that when I was a part of them too. Or maybe that part of my life has never even happened. Maybe I just dreamed about all of it. Maybe I have always been living out of the rails. Maybe I don't even exist.

But Arthur is here with me, so I believe. After all, what would I be without him?

I can't even think of how it would be if Arthur's ain't here.

Sometimes I think of them, you know. You can't really help it if you spend your days watching their lives going on right under you. I think of how it feels to live normal, but mostly I think of why it is that none of them can see us. Why we are (nearly) invincible to them, even though we are just right on top of their roofs. We're not so far away, yet it's the things that takes days by planes to reach that they notice. Maybe they are far-sighted.

Far sighted and deaf.

I twirl the beer can around with my fingers, hearing the slight clank clank of the liquid inside hitting the alumunium walls and resonating inside the nearly hollow space. I hear it, but down there, they don't. I understand, though. It must be though to hear such a silent sound with all the racket going on down there.

I told this to Arthur, and he laughed. I think his laugh is very beautiful, the best thing I have ever heard in my life. It rings like thousands of bells and comes with the very rare tug on his lips. So I watched him, awe-strucked. I didn't say anything because I feared that I would say something stupid again and lose the precious moment. He slowly quieted down―much to my disappointment―, but the wide grin on his face is still intact. His vivid emerald eyes glows with humour, such a rarity. I tried to burn the image to my memory.

"If they are deaf, then we are mute." He then said on the rooftop of a building we didn't even know the name of.

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**Reviews motivates me a lot.**


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